


Death Is Only a Horizon

by Vichan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Casual Sex, Coming Out, Coping, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 12, Season 13 Castiel/Dean Winchester Reunion, Supportive Sam, Temporary Character Death, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vichan/pseuds/Vichan
Summary: They've lost people before, and Sam has seen Dean grieve before. It's never been like this. Sam's never looked at Dean and felt like he couldn't recognize his own brother.





	Death Is Only a Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was started during the S12-S13 hiatus, but is technically somewhat divergent from the end of S12 because the existence of Jack is ignored. Since parts were written while S13 spoilers were coming out and other parts were written after S13 started airing, there may be quite a few elements borrowed from S13. 
> 
> Thank you to super-powerful-queen-slayyna from Tumblr and snarkysnartes from the Profound Bond Discord for their beta-reading services!

* * *

**_Death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight._**

* * *

Naturally, Dean is the one that drags them out on their first hunt after that day from Hell.

That’s what Sam had taken to calling the day they’d lost everyone – Mom, Cas, even _Crowley_ \- but he’s never going to say that out loud.

It’s less than a week later, but Dean’s been glued to his laptop, searching desperately until something finally pops up. It’s a simple haunting – a milk run, really. It should be easy.

But Sam can tell within hours that Dean’s not up to the job. He doesn’t say anything immediately; he just picks up the slack as Dean loses his train of thought while questioning a witness – not just once, but _three_ times. Sam stays quiet when Dean goes to the wrong address of the haunted house. 

He finally admits to himself that he needs to say something when they both almost die because Dean screwed up.

Sam knows on a very base level that the man he’s been hunting with is still his brother, but he doesn’t recognize him.

Sam wisely waits to say anything until they pull back into the bunker. He starts to brace himself as they unload the car, mentally categorizing nearly everything that had gone through his mind on the long drive home. He studiously avoids the creeping, breathtaking fear of realizing that the man he’d just been hunting with is a stranger. 

Sam knows he can’t afford to think that, for Dean’s sake.

So Sam slams the thought out of his head, focusing on what he’s going to say as soon as they’re settled. He rolls the words through his mind over and over -

“Sam.”

Dean had barely spoken a word on the drive home, so the sound of his voice is startling. “Yeah?” Sam asks.

“I know -” Dean pauses, swallows, then starts over. “I know my head’s not in it.” He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes with his own; he stares instead, unfocused, into the trunk of the Impala. “You shouldn’t be counting on me right now. You can’t.” His voice sounds pained, and Sam’s heart aches at the sound of it.

Sam is also completely thrown off. He’s been preparing for an argument, slamming doors, but not this - this resigned acceptance that Dean finds all on his own.

That sense of not recognizing his brother amplifies itself, and it’s terrifying.

“I...” Sam takes in a noisy breath. He’s grateful Dean isn’t going to insist on drowning himself in denial, but he still knows he needs to choose his words carefully, so he starts off with the exact same words Dean did. “I know your head isn’t in it. And I don’t blame you.”

Dean shifts, reaching up to rest his hand on the Impala’s trunk lid, still staring in front of him instead of meeting Sam’s gaze. 

“But I’ll never think that I can’t count on you,” Sam continues. “You’re my brother.”

Dean stiffens. “Sam -”

“You just need some time off,” Sam says quickly. There’s a whisper in the back of his mind that’s telling him maybe _he’s_ the one in denial, but he silences it. “You’ve been through hell, and you know you’re not up to the job. That pretty much proves just how strong you are.”

Dean’s shoulders visibly stiffen. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

Dean slams the trunk shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Dean, I’m serious. I trust you to know your own limits. Take whatever time you need.”

Heaving his bag onto his shoulder and brushing past Sam, Dean heads into the bunker and then doesn’t say another word to Sam for three days.

* * *

Dean drinks. 

Sam expects that to happen, and he’s honestly surprised that it took as long as it did for Dean to try to find solace in a bottle. 

Even so, he isn’t sure if he’s been expecting to find Dean passed out on the kitchen floor. Dean’s always swung wildly back and forth on the ‘alcohol abuse’ scale, but he’s been doing better since he lost the Mark. The last time Cas had died, and after Bobby died a few months later was likely the worst state Sam has seen him in, but this... it was nothing like this. Dean usually manages to at least pass out in a bed. Sam hasn’t found him on the floor in years. 

At least he’s on his side, which is a gift to Dean’s survival, but that couldn’t possibly be comfortable on the cold tile.

“Dean,” Sam says quietly, squatting down and placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. He nudges Dean gently, not wanting to get a fist to the face for his troubles.

His brother groans in response, eyes opening before quickly squeezing shut again. “… time izzit?” he slurs. Sam gets an enormous whiff of Dean’s breath as he speaks, and it smells of old, bad whiskey.

“Almost seven,” Sam says.

“Don’t talk so loud,” Dean grits out. “AM or PM?”

Sam’s voice had barely been above a whisper, but he tries to lower it anyway. “AM.”

Dean rolls onto his back. “Shit,” he says, threading his hand through his hair. Sam would normally laugh at how insane his hair appeared, but an unintentional shiver runs down his spine when he realizes part of the reason it looks so crazy is because Dean hasn’t obsessively trimmed it to his usual military length.

“You need a shower,” Sam says. “You reek.”

“ _You_ reek.”

That was a pathetic attempt at a comeback, but Sam’s lips quirk upwards because at least Dean’s _trying_. “You’re just smelling yourself, dude. Come on.” He helps Dean to his feet, schooling his expression into one of just mild annoyance in case Dean actually opens his eyes again.

Dean somehow manages to shuffle up the steps and out the door with his eyes still closed, and Sam lets himself sink into one of the seats by the kitchen table as he hears the water kick on in the bathroom. He puts his head in his hands and lets out a breath. 

It’s been two weeks, and Sam feels like the only reason he’s holding it together is because Dean needs him to.

* * *

When Dean takes an afternoon nap a day or two later, Sam finally braves a run to the grocery store. They haven’t been plowing through food like they usually do; Dean’s only been eating when Sam makes him, and even then Dean hasn’t finished a full plate of food in days.

Even though Sam hasn’t been gone for more than two hours, Dean is somehow completely trashed when he gets back. He’s also outside, in the overgrown clearing behind the bunker, and Sam is doubtful that he would have found him at all if Dean hadn’t been shouting at the top of his lungs.

The words are slurring together and mostly incomprehensible, but Sam can still pick up enough words to get the general meaning. “Fuck you, Chuck!” Dean stumbles, and Sam picks up his pace, suddenly worrying that if Dean falls he won’t be able to find him in the tall grass.

“Whole fuckin’ mess is your fault, you asshole!” Dean gestures wildly at the sky with a bottle in his hand, and a wrench of regret wraps itself around Sam’s heart as he realizes it’s Glencraig scotch. That’s the scotch favored by Crowley, which Dean had started keeping in the bunker at some point.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Dean takes another enormous swig from the bottle and Sam notices it’s nearly empty when it had definitely been unopened before Sam left. Dean’s shirt has splashes of liquid down the front, and Sam finds himself desperately hoping Dean’s just spilled half of the missing scotch on himself rather than in his mouth. Despair gets overtaken by a hollow rage, and Sam breaks out into a full-on sprint.

“Amara? Bring ‘im back,” Dean says. “Please. All of ‘em. Please.” Dean’s stumbling is growing worse, and his voice is getting softer, and then Sam reaches him and snatches the bottle out of his hand. He probably uses more strength than necessary as he throws it hard into the tall grass behind them.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean snarls, pushing weakly at Sam. “Shit’s expensive - ”

“You’ve had enough,” Sam snaps. “ _I’ve_ had enough. You gotta cut this out, man.”

“Fuck _off_ \- ”

“Shut up!” Sam finds himself clenching his hand into a fist, and he forces himself to relax. As enraged as he feels, Sam knows that clocking his drunk brother is pretty much the last thing he should be doing right now. “How much did you drink?”

“Not enough,” Dean hisses.

“You need to _stop_ , Dean.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Dean!” Sam’s adrenaline is rushing for some reason, and his body feels like he’s at the peak of some of their worst hunts. “ _You_ go fuck yourself. You’re not the only one who lost them!”

Dean closes his mouth, and Sam watches as Dean struggles to focus his eyes. Then Dean’s lips curl into a sneer again. “You think Mom’s still alive. You didn’t give a _shit_ about Crowley. And Cas...” Dean’s voice cracks at that last name, and Sam wants to cry.

Dean’s face falls, and he stumbles backward a couple of steps and lands hard on his ass, and the tall grass arches over his head in a bad canopy. He immediately buries his face in his hands, and Sam thinks he might prefer the angry, drunken rage Dean had just been in over this.

Sam falls to his knees in front of Dean, pulling Dean’s shoulders toward him. Dean buries his face in Sam’s shoulder, his fingers winding into Sam’s shirt.

Sam has no idea what to say, not wanting to incite another struggle or a wild swing of Dean’s fist, but something slips out in a whisper despite himself. “Cas wouldn’t - ” And then Sam cuts himself off, not wanting to finish that thought.

It’s then that Dean’s shoulders begin to shake, and Sam pretends that the dampness he feels on his shoulder is just the spilled scotch.

* * *

Dean dries out over the next month. After a day or two of some slight alcohol withdrawal that thankfully only manifests itself in shaky muscles, Dean announces he’s taking a break. He doesn’t say he’s quitting altogether, but Sam doesn’t want to press the issue. 

And Dean keeps his word. The remaining alcohol in the bunker, which Sam initially wanted to pour down the drain, remains untouched. Sam almost wants to say he’s impressed, but he doesn’t dare bring it up. He’s just glad that it appears he doesn’t have to add Dean to the list of the people he’s lost.

Never mind that he’s pretty sure he already did already lose a part of Dean.

He still feels like he’s walking on eggshells, but he starts to feel comfortable enough to leave the house again.

And then Jody calls him with a desperate plea for help on a hunt. It’s ghouls, she thinks, or revenants. Either way, more than fifteen people have already died, an entire town is in a panic, and Jody doesn’t have anyone else she can send besides Donna, and she doesn’t want to send Donna alone with that kind of body count. Sam _has_ to go, with or without Dean.

Sam doesn’t ask if Dean is coming with; he simply informs Dean that there’s a hunt and that he has to go.

Dean doesn’t say anything at first, instead just absently picks at the edge of the table with his thumbnail. The silence is heavy, and it drags on for what feels like forever. It’s only when the sound of the mini-fridge kicking on reverberates through the library that Dean shifts in his seat, finally raising his eyes to meet Sam’s. “When are you leaving?” he asks.

Sam swallows at the silent admission; Dean’s not coming. “As soon as I can pack up.”

“You taking the Impala?”

“Uh...” Whatever Sam had been expecting, that isn’t it. “I don’t have to.”

“Yes, you do. All the hunting gear is in there.” He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “If you fuck her up, I’ll kill you.”

Sam stares. “I mean, I could take -” _Mom’s car_ , he thinks, knowing that it’s been sitting in the corner of the garage. “I could take another car.”

“She should be hunting,” Dean says. “And right now, I can’t.”

And that statement is still mind-blowing to Sam; his brother - his live-breathe-eat-and-shit-hunting brother saying he can’t hunt is still something that Sam’s having a hard time wrapping his head around.

Again, Sam doesn’t recognize the man in front of him.

At the same time, though, there’s a thought screaming in Sam’s head, and it’s one he knows he can’t avoid.

“Dean...”

Dean stares at Sam expectedly.

“Um. Dean, I...”

Dean rolls his eyes as Sam still can’t get it out. “Dude, just spit it out.”

“Will you be okay… by yourself?”

Mild annoyance falls over Dean’s expression, and Sam can’t really blame him. “I’m _how_ old, Sammy?”

“That’s not what I mean -”

“I’m not gonna drink myself into a coma if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That’s exactly what Sam’s worried about. Dean’s been fine – or as fine as he can be – for weeks, but Sam can’t help but worry that Dean will crash and burn without him there. “I’m gonna call three times a day until I get back.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. “Overkill, don’t ya think?”

“Then two calls, and three texts.”

“Dude...”

They negotiate to a text in the morning and afternoon and an evening phone call just before Dean goes to sleep, and that’s just so he can’t fake sobriety at the time of day he’s most likely to drink. Sam knows he got the better end of the deal, but as the bunker disappears in the rear view mirror he can’t ignore the icy hand winding its way through his gut.

* * *

Sam doesn’t function like he normally does on a hunt, deciding early on that the only way he’d have to get used to Dean not being there to watch his back is by pretending Dean is the one that needs rescuing. Sam knows that’s probably not the best way to go about ensuring he doesn’t die, but it gets the job done.

The phone calls and texts all happen as agreed upon, but when the hunt’s over and Sam pulls back into the bunker, Dean’s not there. Neither is their mom’s car.

Sam gets another one of those annoying adrenaline rushes as he whips out his cell phone and calls Dean.

To his credit, Dean picks up almost immediately. “It’s a bit early for your nightly ‘ _sweet dreams_ ’ call, Sammy.”

“Where the hell are you?”

There’s a moment of silence. “You’re back already?”

“Yeah, I told you the hunt was over yesterday. Donna seemed to be fine with handling the clean-up, so I decided to take off last night.”

“Oh.”

Sam grits his teeth in order to hold himself back from yelling. “So? Where are you?”

“Uh… I’m….”

“Dean!”

“I’m in Rhode Island.”

Sam gapes. “What the hell are you doing in Rhode Island? And since when?”

“Since Tuesday. I - ”

“You’ve been there since the day after I left and you didn’t say anything?” Sam isn’t sure whether to be enraged or offended. 

“Yeah, I - ”

“You there on a hunt?” Sam swears if Dean went out on a hunt after saying that he couldn’t...

“No,” Dean snaps. “Would you shut up a minute, Sam?”

“Fine.”

Sam hears Dean sigh wearily. “A friend needed some help with something.”

“Who?” Sam’s racking his brain, trying to think of what mutual friends they had that weren’t in immediate contact with Jody or Donna.

“Max,” Dean says. “Max Banes. He called right after you left.”

It instantly clicks. It also makes sense why Dean would take off immediately; when they’d last seen Max he’d just lost everyone, just before he and Dean had… well, lost everyone. “I… wow. Is he okay?”

Dean sighs again. “Sam...”

“And why didn’t you just tell me you had gone?”

“’Cuz the hunt you were on was nasty, and I knew I could handle this situation myself,” Dean snaps. “This wasn’t a hunt.”

“What… situation?” When Dean doesn’t answer, Sam says, “Dean?”

“I’m here with Max… and Alicia.”

A chill runs through Sam’s entire being. Alicia died. He’s absolutely, completely sure she died, which probably means that Max…

“Look, it’s a long story, and kind of a tough one,” Dean is saying. “I’m gonna be leaving tomorrow morning, but it’s just about a two-day drive. I should be back by Wednesday evening. I’ll tell you about it then.”

“Dean - ”

“Do you still want me to call tonight?” Dean’s voice sounds simultaneously annoyed and placating, and Sam knows that he’s only making the offer for Sam’s benefit.

“I… no. You don’t have to.”

“Good,” Dean says. “Seeya, Sammy.”

Dean hangs up, and Sam isn’t sure how long he stares at the phone in his hand.

* * *

“So is Alicia still… Alicia?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Dean says, taking a swig off of his beer. Sam had side-eyed Dean as he grabbed it from the fridge earlier, but Dean had brought one for Sam, too, and made certain to mention that he was only going to have a few at most. “Max isn’t sure. Hell, Alicia herself isn’t sure.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs, leaning back in his chair and throwing his boots up on the table. “She said she still feels like herself, except for a few weird things.”

“Like what?”

“Not sleeping, not needing to eat, it takes a whole lot of liquor to get her drunk…” Dean trails off and something flickers across his face, almost like he’s wincing.

Sam clears his throat. “Like, she still feels human?”

“No,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “I think it’s kinda like… like when I was a vampire.” Dean starts to speak a little faster, likely because that particular incident brought all kinds of terrible memories on multiple levels. “I could tell I wasn’t human, but I was still _me_ , you know?” Dean’s eyes drop away from Sam and he stares down into his beer bottle. “And it’s… kinda the same. I had blood and heartbeats yelling at me, telling me what to do. With Alicia, it’s just...”

“It’s Max telling her what to do.”

“That’s the difference,” Dean says in agreement. “He really doesn’t want to tell her to do something and have her do it without question.”

A pang of sympathy rolls over Sam. “So what’d you guys do?”

“We figured out that if Max just _asks_ her to do something instead of telling her, she’s still able to make the choice if she wants to do it or not,” Dean says. “So he’s just gotta be careful with how he talks to her.”

With the eggshells Sam’s been tiptoeing over recently, that’s definitely something Sam can sympathize with. Sam finally takes a deep gulp of his beer and leans back in his seat, picking at the label of the Margiekugels. “So… like, if he tells her to bring him a beer she has to do it, but if he _asks_ her, and she can still say no?”

“Right.” Dean sighs then, removing his feet from the table and leaning forward. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They both know that’s probably not a long-term solution. But for now...”

“It’s good enough,” Sam says quietly.

“I guess.”

They sit quietly in companionable silence for a few minutes, nursing their beers. Sam’s a little startled and relieved when he realizes that he’s finished his before Dean, and he gets up. “Do you… do you want another one?”

Dean looks at his beer, still a third full. “No,” he says. “Wait… yeah, I do. Sam, wait a minute, though.”

Sam waits for a moment, then sits back down when Dean doesn’t immediately continue.

“It’s just… something that Max and Alicia made me realize,” Dean says slowly. “I’ve been… messed up. I mean, I’ve kinda always been messed up, but lately - ”

“Dean, you’re not - ”

Dean cuts Sam off with a wave. “Lemme finish. I can’t just...” Dean stops, sighs, and finishes his beer. “I think the only way I’m gonna feel better is if I’m hunting.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Are you… do you feel up to it?”

Dean lets out a sound that’s something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah, actually. I took myself out of the game, so now I’m putting myself back in. I still want… I still _need_ to help... people.”

And suddenly, Sam is wrenched backward in time, to a sunny day at a gas station, when he, Dean, and Cas were standing around outside the Impala, and he can hear those exact same words coming out of Cas’s mouth. He can even hear Cas’s voice, happily declaring that he’s going to become a hunter.

It’s right at that moment that a bolt of clarity rams itself straight through Sam. The man in front of him is still his brother, which is something that Sam’s been sure of all along, but he finally realizes exactly why Dean’s been so unrecognizable to him: he’s just been grieving in a way he never has before. 

Losing everyone - basically all of the people close to Dean outside of Sam - has to be what’s making this one different. Sure, Sam lost them, too, but the regret he feels over Crowley is minor. He’d never had the kind of friendship with Cas that Dean did, and Mom… well, Mom is a different kind of regret for Sam, but it’s one that he’s not particularly interested in digging into right now. He’s got other things to focus on, like making sure Dean can get through this.

Sam finally just nods. “Okay. I trust you when you say you’re ready.”

“Awesome. Now get me a beer and I’ll find us a hunt.”

* * *

On their very first hunt back as a team, they run into trouble. Thankfully, it’s only their usual trouble and not self-induced, and not even Dean-induced. The problem is that they’d gone in expecting vampires and they find demons instead.

But then Dean turns scary.

Dean is suddenly methodical, ruthless, and just a little too brutal as he takes the demons down one by one. Sam only has a chance to take out one, and he’s not sure if he should be relieved that Dean’s head seems to be back in the hunting game, or if he should be terrified that Dean looks far too much like he did back when he had the Mark.

“Well, that was… fun.” Dean says unenthusiastically when the dust just begins to settle. The bodies of five demons lay on the floor, with the last two having disappeared in the blink of an eye as soon as they realized they no longer outnumber the Winchesters.

“Are you… okay?” Sam asks. 

“I’m fine.”

But that night, Dean disappears.

* * *

“His phone’s off, so I can’t even turn his GPS on,” Sam says, running a hand through his hair. 

His phone’s speaker is silent for a moment. “I mean, I can put the word out,” Jody finally says. “But the last time Dean did this - ”

“The last time Dean did this he was a demon.” Sam barely restrains himself from snapping at her. “That’s not making this time any better, Jody.”

“I hear you, Sam,” Jody says in what Sam recognizes as her placating mother voice. “I’m just saying that…” She stops. “It’s only been one night.”

“I know, I know,” Sam says. “It’s just - ”

“He might’ve gone out last night, crashed somewhere, and he just hasn’t woken up yet.”

“So you’re saying I should give it more time?” Sam bites out. Maybe Jody wasn’t the right person to call, but Sam doesn’t actually have anyone else to call. Donna’s a possibility, but she doesn’t have the resources that Jody has yet. And in the back of his mind, he knows that Jody probably thinks that Sam’s just scared of losing Dean after losing everyone else, which is true. 

But Dean took out the demons like he was some kind of predator, ruthless and terrifying, and then there's the alarming amount of alcohol that Sam knew Dean was capable of consuming… 

Sam can’t help but think that Dean would be furious with himself if he died because he passed out on the side of a street instead of being taken out while on a hunt. 

“Okay,” Jody says with a sigh. “I guess you could start calling hospitals, but - ”

Sam’s phone beeps in his ear. “Hang on,” he says. He sees Dean’s name on the caller ID, and he doesn’t even bother to tell Jody as he switches the call over. “Dean!”

“Hey,” Dean says. He sounds fine. 

Dean isn’t dead. 

Sam’s going to kill him.

“Where the hell are you, man?” Sam doesn’t even try to keep his voice down. “I woke up and you weren’t here. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours - ”

“Dude. Chill. I went out,” Dean says. “I forgot my charger and my phone died. Took me a minute to scrounge - ”

“There wasn’t even a note, Dean!” Sam says. “Demons were trying to take us out left and right yesterday, and I thought - ”

“I’m a big boy, Sam,” Dean says, and Sam can detect the first hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “I can take a night out by myself, right?”

“Yeah, I - ”

“I’ll meet you back at the hotel in a couple hours.” And then he hangs up. 

Sam stares at the phone in his hand for what feels like days, rolling over his conversation with Dean in his head. If Dean had just gone out to get laid, he would have said something. He always says something. He always has a lewd comment or a raunchy joke. He always makes sure to let his brother know when he’s had sex. And if it’s not sex, Dean would at least have a comment or two about whatever bar he wound up at. 

Instead, Dean didn’t give Sam the slightest hint as to where he’d gone or what he’d been up to. 

Belatedly, Sam realizes he never switched back to his call with Jody. He’s somewhat relieved to discover that she already hung up, meaning he doesn’t have to hear her response when he simply sends her a text letting her know that Dean’s fine. He’s not in the mood for an ‘I told you so’ right now. 

Dean is fine, and he’s not saying a word about where he’d gone last night. 

Which means Dean is hiding something. 

* * *

Dean disappears three more times - another time from their hotel while they’re on the road on the way home from a hunt, and twice from the bunker - before Sam finally decides to just ask. 

“What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Sam knows this is familiar territory. He and Dean have been down this road before, and it rarely goes well, but it’s a conversation that has to happen. Sam takes a breath and tries to level his voice so his words don’t sound like an accusation. “Something’s going on with you, and you’re not telling me what it is.”

Dean freezes for a moment and then his eyes narrow, and Sam braces himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Dean’s reaction pretty much confirms that Sam is right. “You… you keep disappearing.”

“Right in front of you, Sam. You can see me now.”

Sam closes his eyes and takes a breath. He knows that Dean is trying to piss him off on purpose. It’s what he does when he’s trying to avoid talking about something. “I mean, you leave and you don’t come back until the next day. Sometimes two days.” Sam speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully. 

“I’m not going out and getting hammered, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean says. 

“It’s… that’s not what I’m saying.”

Dean shifts in his chair and mutters his next sentence, his voice so low that Sam can’t quite catch all the words. “... more like I’m going out so I _don’t_...”

“That…” And now Sam’s confused. The first thing to come to Sam’s mind at that comment is that it sounds like Dean’s been going to A.A. meetings, but Dean’s said before that he finds A.A. meetings ‘creepy.’ Besides, Dean’s still drinking. Not excessively, but Dean’s still got an open, half-finished beer in his hands right this second. Shouldn’t people who go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings be… _not_ drinking?

And then Sam suddenly realizes Dean didn’t deny that he’s been leaving and he didn’t offer up some terrible excuse. Sam knows Dean hasn’t been up to his usual; he hasn’t come home smelling like a bar, a bad hangover, or cheap perfume, but Dean doesn’t even offer up his regular fare. 

“What’s the…” Sam almost asks the question outright before remembering that he’s made a personal promise not to straight-up ask where Dean’s been going. “I mean, is there something I need to know?”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes for a brief moment, but he almost immediately looks away. “No.”

“But there _is_ something you’re not telling me,” Sam says, pressing on. 

“Yes,” Dean snaps. “But that doesn’t mean you need to know it.”

“Dean - ” Sam is trying so hard to keep his cool, but, as usual, Dean isn’t exactly making it easy. “You and me - _both_ of us - have a habit of keeping secrets that wind up being kinda crappy for the other person.” 

“Trust me when I say this isn’t the same,” Dean says. Sam can tell Dean is pissed, but he, like Sam, is trying to reign it in. “Where I’m going isn’t your business - ”

Sam opens his mouth to snap out a retort to that, but Dean won’t let him.

“And what I’m not telling you has nothing to do with _you_ ,” Dean says. “I don’t have to tell you everything.” 

That makes Sam sit back, his anger draining out of him. He stares at Dean, and Dean stares back at him. 

“Are you… are you, uh… going to therapy or something?” Sam asks. It’s a fair question because Dean’s response to this entire conversation has been way too healthy. 

Healthy by Dean standards, anyway. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, his voice tired. “And no.” Then Dean sighs and finishes the rest of his beer. “Sammy, I’ll tell you later. Just… not now, okay?”

As Dean leaves the room, Sam realizes that even though he still doesn’t have an answer, that conversation still went miles better than Sam was expecting it to.

* * *

The next time Dean leaves, it’s different. 

“I’m going out,” Dean says, and Sam can hear keys already jingling in his pocket. “I probably won’t be back tonight… at least.” 

Dean doesn’t move for a moment. 

Sam clears his throat, swallows, and then nods. “Okay. Can you text me if you won’t be back by tomorrow night?”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot upwards for a brief moment before he schools his expression into something more neutral. “Sure.” He turns away but pauses in the doorway of Sam’s bedroom. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

* * *

It happens a few more times, and it’s the same every single time. Sam’s almost getting used to it. 

They’re in the library, digging around to try and find a case. Or at least that’s what they’re supposed to be doing, anyway. Dean’s got his laptop open in front of him, but he’s been on his phone for at least the last twenty minutes. 

And because Sam knows the signs by now, he’s pretty sure Dean’s about to tell him that he’s taking off for a night or two again, which is why it’s all the more startling when Dean says something completely different. 

“Max and Alicia are probably dropping by tomorrow night.” 

Sam blinks as he looks away from his computer and up at Dean, who hasn’t removed his eyes from his phone. “Are they… okay?” Sam had no idea that Dean was even still in touch with either of the Banes twins, but he supposes that it shouldn’t be a surprise; it makes sense that he would reach out to them after everything they’d been through. Grief calls to grief.

“They’re fine. Or I think they are, anyway,” Dean says, putting his phone face-down on the table. “Honestly sounds like they just need to see some faces that aren’t each other for a little bit.” 

Sam lets out a laugh, turning his attention back to his screen. He knows how that is. At least he and Dean have a gigantic bunker to avoid each other in. Hell, if they really wanted to they could probably go for days without seeing -

“I’ve been sleeping with Max.”

Sam’s eyes jerk away from his computer and land on Dean, who’s staring back at him with an uneasy expression. Sam’s pretty sure his brain stops for a few seconds. It doesn’t screech or skid to a halt; his thoughts just stop entirely.

When the wheels starting spinning again, Sam starts turning Dean’s words over in his head. Did he hear Dean right? Is Dean joking? 

Sam has a thousand questions he wants to ask, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What?”

Dean takes in a deep, noisy breath. “I’ve been sleeping with Max,” he says again, and Sam suddenly realizes that Dean is kind of hunched over himself and drawn in. His shoulders look tense, and his hands are tucked underneath the table. Sam’s lack of an immediate response apparently spurs Dean on to clarify. “‘Sleeping with’ as in ‘having sex with.’”

“Um - ” is all Sam can manage to get out. 

And something suddenly clicks in Sam’s head. Dean’s been disappearing to go sleep with - as in have sex with - Max Banes. Dean’s been having sex with a guy. 

This is the thing that Dean didn’t want to tell Sam. This is the thing that Dean’s been keeping from him, the thing that he insisted had nothing to do with Sam. 

“Sammy?”

Dean’s voice sounds strained and desperate. 

Sam quite abruptly realizes that Dean just came out to him. 

Dean’s sitting across from him, and his tenseness, his posture, and his lack of composure all make an awful kind of sense, and Sam suddenly feels like he’s the shittiest little brother in the world. 

He abruptly remembers, with uncomfortably vivid clarity, Jesse Cuevas telling him what a great brother Matty was just for being accepting.

“Dean, it’s fine,” Sam says quickly. “I mean that. You just took me by surprise.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. Whatever secrets Sam’s been thinking Dean’s been keeping, this definitely wasn’t one of them. 

Sure, it had crossed his mind a time or three over the course of their lives. There were moments that made Sam wonder, but he’d always settled in on the thought that even though Dean lied about a lot of little things, his sexuality probably wasn’t one of them. Dean had always been completely confident and comfortable with women. But then there were the times where that confidence seemed a little over the top, and then there were guys that Dean reacted to just a little… differently...

But because thinking about Dean and _sexuality_ always inevitably led to Sam thinking about Dean and _sex_ , Sam always rushed through the considerations and ultimately came to the same conclusion - Dean was most likely straight, and it wasn’t really any of Sam’s business if he wasn’t. 

Which is exactly what Dean had said to him when Sam brought up the whole ‘keeping secrets’ thing, and Sam feels like kicking himself. 

But what good would it have done to realize it before now? Sam probably wouldn’t have - couldn’t have - confronted Dean about it. He would have let Dean tell him on his own terms, and that’s exactly what needs to be playing out now. 

“Sam?”

Sam supposes figuring it out earlier would have better prepared him for this conversation, but he’s quickly realizing that he’s completely over-analyzing what he _could_ have done or _should_ have realized or how he _would_ have reacted. The one and only thing he should be doing right now is making sure Dean’s okay. 

Sam shakes his head as if physically trying to clear it. “Sorry, I’m just… a couple of things are making sense now.” 

Dean’s shoulders get visibly more tense, which Sam didn’t even think was possible. “Was it… obvious? Or - ”

Sam shakes his head. “No, no. That’s not what I mean. The thing you weren’t telling me, where you’ve been going - you were going to… see Max, right?”

“Yeah.”

Sam nods. “Are you guys like… a… thing, now?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. No way. Not a thing,” he says. “I mean… it’s a thing that keeps happening, but we’re not… we’re not a _thing_.”

Sam’s eyebrows arch towards his hairline. “It ‘keeps happening,’ huh?” That sounds like a line from the back of every cheesy romance novel that Amelia kept tucked in the back of her bookcase. 

But that’s apparently the wrong thing to say because Dean’s expression is morphing into one of anger. “You want details or something, Sam?” he snaps. “I’ve fucked Max. Max has fucked me. The first time there was a waitress, and then there wasn’t. You want a fucking diagram?”

Sam doesn’t actually understand where Dean got the idea that Sam is pressing for graphic details, but he’s now getting a mental image of Dean and Max in bed together, and he realizes that picturing his brother having sex with a man isn’t any more or less terrible than it is with a woman. 

Really, it’s only terrible because he’s now picturing his brother naked and having sex, which… _ew_.

Sam raises his hands in a sign of surrender. “No details. Seriously. I don’t want to have to scrub my brain clean. Because I don’t want to picture _you_ having sex, not because of who you’re having sex with,” he clarifies. 

Dean doesn’t look any less angry, but it finally sinks in that Dean’s not actually angry. Dean’s scared out of his mind. Sam knows his brother better than anyone else, and this is exactly how he acts when he’s terrified. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quickly. “I feel like I’m doing this totally wrong.” He gets out of his chair and pretty much runs around the table, practically tackling his brother and wrapping his arms around him. It’s only then that Sam realizes that Dean is shaking. 

“Dean, I’m okay with this,” Sam says. “You’re still my brother. Me knowing something about you that I didn’t know before doesn’t change who you are.” 

“Are you telling that to me or you?” Dean asks, his voice muffled by Sam’s shirt. He hasn’t returned the hug yet. 

“You,” Sam says. “You could tell me pretty much anything about yourself and I wouldn’t think of you any differently.” Sam almost wants to chide Dean for ever thinking that he wouldn’t accept him, but he isn’t sure that’s what Dean should be hearing right now, so he holds his tongue. 

Dean’s arms finally come up and he returns the hug. He’s still shaking, but it’s not as severe. Sam hugs him tighter anyway.

There are a thousand questions still running through Sam’s head. Was Max the first? Is this something that Dean’s always known, but kept hidden their whole lives? But Sam rolls back to the old, safe conclusion - it’s none of his business. 

Instead, he says, “Thank you for telling me.” 

Sam will listen to whatever Dean wants to tell him, but he’s not going to drag out every detail. Dean can tell him whatever he wants and nothing more.

Dean sniffs, and it sounds wet. “Are we done with this Lifetime movie moment now?”

Sam lets out a laugh. “If you want it to be, sure.” 

Dean disentangles himself from Sam’s hug. 

“Is there…” Sam feels like he’s still walking on eggshells and completely unsure of what to do. It’s not like he’s ever done this before. “Is there anything else you want to say?” That’s not entirely what Sam means, but he figures it’s close enough. 

Dean stares at Sam for a moment. “Uh…” 

There’s an awkward silence, and Sam decides he should probably be the one to break it since he’s probably the one that made it awkward to begin with. “Just saying… door’s open.” 

Dean finally just shakes his head. “I’m good.” 

Sam nods. “Okay. Good.” 

* * *

The visit is actually pretty fun, and Sam realizes that they should probably make sure to see other faces once in a while, too. They dig into a 24-pack of cheap beer, except Alicia, who has wine. “Alcohol doesn’t really do anything to me anymore, so I may as well drink something that tastes good,” she says, and Sam feels a couple of different waves of regret: one for Alicia and what happened to her, and one because he’s suddenly forcefully, painfully reminded of Cas and his angelic tolerance to alcohol. 

Sam knows he’s being overly aware of Max and Dean’s interactions even though he’s trying not to be, but if Dean hadn’t told him what had been going on between them, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed anything. Max is very much like Dean, giving way too many details about a bartender he picked up a few weeks ago, and Dean seems amused. Whatever’s been going on between them, Sam supposes it isn’t exclusive. 

As the night wears on, though, the beer dwindles down, and then Dean and Max start getting handsy. Sam realizes it’s just as easy to ignore his brother flirting with a guy as it is when Dean flirts with a girl. 

Sam isn’t anywhere close to drunk, but he feels warm and more content than he has in months, and he and Alicia are deep in conversation before he notices that at some point, Max and Dean disappeared. 

Alicia must have noticed their absence at the same time as Sam, because she leans over her wine and says, “You know, Max isn’t usually the type to hook up with someone more than once.” 

Sam snorts. “Yeah. Dean, neither.” 

“I wish Dean wasn’t - ” Alicia stops and shakes her head. “I mean, I know they’re not gonna turn serious or anything, but Dean really helped us out. He’s good for Max.”

Sam pauses, suddenly realizing something. “I think Max has been good for Dean, too. I mean, with everything that…” Sam trails off when he realizes that he’s not actually sure how much Alicia knows. “Dean was in a really bad place when he first went out to see you guys.”

“I didn’t even know Max had called him until he showed up,” Alicia says. “But I was pissed, and Max was just… lost.” She leans back in her chair, absently picking at the edge of her wine glass. “He felt really bad for what he did, and I was mad at him, and Dean…”

Sam’s seen that caring, gentle side of Dean. It’s good to hear that he managed to help some people out even when he was drowning in his own grief.

“Dean told us that he’d done way stupider things to get _you_ back,” Alicia continues. “Did he really have an angel possess you?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah.” 

“And you lost your soul?” 

Sam blinks. “Well, yeah… but that wasn’t Dean’s fault.” It was because Cas unknowingly left it behind when he pulled Sam out of Hell, but Sam really doesn’t want to go down that trail right now because that’s going to inevitably lead to thinking about Cas. That loss still cuts deep.

“That’s… that’s like the opposite of what happened with me,” Alicia says. “You kept your body and your free will but lost your soul, and I think all I’ve got left is my soul.” 

Sam suddenly feels completely sober, a sharp bolt of alertness running through him. “This… this might be the wrong thing to ask, but are you sure you’re…” And Sam _knows_ it’s the wrong thing to ask, so he trails off. 

“If I’m actually me?” Alicia offers. “Yeah. At least as sure as we can be. Max didn’t trust his own powers to tell him the truth considering it was him that…” Alicia abruptly sits up and finishes her glass of wine in two gulps. “After Dean left that first time, we went to three different psychics. They all said that I have a human soul.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shoot into hair, and then a pang runs through his chest when he realizes that means their mother -

Alicia can’t meet Sam’s eyes anymore. 

“I don’t know what to say, Alicia,” Sam says. 

Alicia shrugs. “There’s nothing you _can_ say.”

* * *

Sam doesn’t hear from Alicia or Max for a while. He supposes Dean does, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Then one night just after midnight, on a night that Dean is out - presumably with Max - Alicia calls in a panic. 

“Our brothers have done something monumentally stupid!” she says. Sam can hear Max yelling something in the background. 

“Is Dean okay?” Sam asks. He’s already on his feet, scanning his room for his shoes. 

“No!” Alicia says. “He’s unconscious, and there’s blood - ”

“He’s fine!” Max’s voice sounds small, but his words are crystal clear, and they do absolutely nothing to calm the sudden chill that’s running throughout Sam’s entire being. 

“Dean’s fine,” Alicia says, suddenly calm, which chills Sam even more; he can’t tell if Alicia is only saying that because Max wants her to. Then Sam hears her draw in a sharp breath. “Sam, we’re in Kansas City,” she says. Then there’s a clatter, rustling, and then Max is on the phone instead of Alicia. 

“Dean’s fine,” Max says. “He’s got me looking after him. No better witch for the job.”

Sam knows that’s supposed to comfort him, but it has the exact opposite effect. Whatever’s gone down, it involves freaking _witchcraft_. “What did you guys do?”

“It’s fine, Sam. You weren’t supposed to find out until we were done, but Alicia just had to bust in - ”

“What the hell did you do to my brother?” Sam snaps, mostly because he doesn’t really give a crap about anything else.

There’s a beat of silence before Max responds. “I’ll have him call you when he wakes up.” 

Sam doesn’t have an address, but he hits the road anyway. 

* * *

Sam only has to stop for gas, and he goes straight for those terrible energy drinks rather than taking the time to pour a cheap gas station coffee. His stomach feels like it’s in ribbons, but he knows he can’t blame it all on the energy drinks.

It’s normally just over a four-hour drive from Lebanon to Kansas City, but Sam makes it in three and a half. He’s been calling Alicia’s phone, but it’s turned off. Dean’s is off, too, which destroys all possibility of tracing the GPS. The number he has for Max isn’t working, and Sam isn’t sure if he even had the right one in the first place.

Sam drives to as close to the center of the city as he can, figuring that way he’ll have a fair shot at being relatively close whenever he does figure out where he should be going. 

He finds a parking lot near a closed shopping center, and he sits in Mary’s car and worries. He’d been hoping that the secret that Dean has been keeping was just Max. Sam supposes the secret was Max, after all, but Dean hasn’t just been sneaking off to go have sex with Max. 

Dean’s been sneaking off to go hang out with a fairly powerful natural witch, a fact that Sam quite conveniently and quite stupidly forgot. 

Sam knows from experience that nothing makes Dean do stupid things more than grief does. With the state of mind Dean had been in, he and Max being in the same room on a regular basis should have set off all kinds of alarms with Sam, but it didn’t. 

Sam wants to either start crying or punch something. 

It suddenly occurs to Sam that he might be able to find Max’s phone number in Dean’s phone records, but just then his phone chimes. It’s a text from Alicia with an address, and it’s just about the most beautiful text Sam’s ever received. 

Sam actually makes the tires squeal on his way out. He thinks both Dean and his mom would be proud.

* * *

Sam knows he’s in the right spot because he parks right next to the Impala. He slides his fingertips across her finish as he gets out of Mom’s car and looks up at the building they’re next to.

It’s an old, run-down but livable four-unit apartment complex. The building must have been gorgeous when it was first built; it’s all brick with small, private balconies, and huge bay windows, but the bricks are worn and dirty. It looks like the property has been maintained just barely enough to keep it from being shut down by the city. The address Alicia gave him is for one of the upper apartments, and Sam takes the stairs in the back two steps at a time. 

The door opens before Sam even reaches it, and he finds Alicia waiting for him. “He’s in the bedroom,” she says quietly. “Go through the kitchen and make a u-turn into the hallway.” 

Sam crosses the kitchen and stops for a moment when he sees Max sitting in the living room with his head in his hands, but he needs to see Dean first before he starts in on the questions. Priorities. The hallway to the bedroom runs parallel to the kitchen, and Sam closes the distance in four strides. 

He finds Dean laying in the middle of the bed, and he’s far too still, and he looks way too much like he did when Sam laid him down after Metatron killed him.

Sam’s on his knees beside the bed before he even really realizes he’s moved. His fingers are trembling as he pushes aside the collar of Dean’s flannel, pressing the tips to Dean’s neck. 

Dean’s cold, and Sam can’t find a pulse. 

“He’ll be back,” Max says from behind him.

Sam’s on his feet and has Max shoved up against the wall in a matter of seconds. “What the fuck did you do?”

Max doesn’t push back at Sam, but he raises his chin in a show of defiance. “He asked me to.”

“He’s _dead_ ,” Sam spits. “What the fuck did you to my brother?”

“He’s not dead.” Max does shove back this time, just enough to get Sam’s hands off of him. “He’s just not… _there_ right now.” Max tilts his head towards Dean’s still form.

“Then where the fuck is he? And how the hell is he supposed to get back in a dead body? What is he doing?” 

Max meets Sam’s gaze evenly, and that only makes Sam want to hit him even more. “What do you want me to answer first?”

Sam takes a breath. His fingers are twitching. He wants to hurt Max, whether by his hands or with a weapon, but spying Alicia halfway down the hall calms him down. “Where is he?”

“He was aiming for something called the Empty.” Max shrugs. “From what I understand, anyway.”

“From what you _understand_?” Sam snaps. He resists the urge to throw Max into the wall again. “You don’t even know what the Empty is?”

“No. Do you?”

“I - ” Sam pauses, realizing that he actually doesn’t. “No. But a reaper told me that… that there’s no coming back from that. If Dean’s there…” 

“Dean swore he could get back from it, but if he doesn’t…” Max takes a deep breath. “I’m all yours. Full rights to take it out on me.”

“Max...” Alicia’s voice comes from the hallway, and Sam sees her step into the doorway. She’s apparently been waiting to see if she needed to intervene.

Sam blinks. “Dean swore… ?” He closes his eyes, lets out a breath, and wills himself to calm down. He needs answers right now, not revenge. “Can you just… tell me what you guys did? And why?”

“I pulled him out of his body, then I shut it down so he can jump right back in when he’s ready.” 

“What the hell for?”

Max swallows. “I… damn it. You seriously can’t _guess_?” 

Sam blinks. Should he know? He knows Dean’s been messed up to all hell since that terrible day. Crowley died in that other world, and Mom was pulled there by Lucifer. And Cas…

If any of the people they’d lost would be in the Empty, it would be Cas.

“His angel,” Max says right as it hits him. “He went to go try and find…”

“Cas,” Sam breathes. 

It all makes a terrible kind of sense. Sam feels his knees start to give out, and he backs up a few steps, sinking down to sit on the bed beside Dean. 

“He’s been set on it,” Max says. “Trust me, I tried talking him out of it, but he said he would just go to someone else if I wouldn’t help him out. He did the research on what happens to angels when they - ” 

“When?” Sam asks. 

“What?”

“When did you guys decide to - ” 

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight,” Max says, cutting Sam off. “ _Dean_ decided. _I_ didn’t. I only agreed so he would be with someone that wouldn’t just… you know, kill him.” 

Sam hesitates, then nods for Max to continue. 

“But when he first asked about it… it was right after he came to see me and ‘licia back in Rhode Island.” 

Sam clenches his fist. The timing makes a horrible kind of sense. If Dean decided way back then to do this, then it turns out it wasn’t _Max_ who turned around Dean’s attitude; it was Dean having decided that he was going to get Cas back, no matter the cost. 

He’s suddenly hit with that strange, still unfamiliar feeling of not recognizing Dean, while simultaneously feeling like he knows Dean better than ever. 

Because Sam’s finally realizing that Dean’s in love with Cas. 

Sam’s not sure when it happened because they’ve seen Cas die before. This time around was different, but Sam’s been absolutely convinced that it was just because they lost _so much_ that same day. 

Sam turns around to look at Dean’s body. _Dean_ , he corrects himself, because he’s got to believe Max when he says Dean will be back in it. A bandage is tied around Dean’s hand, and Sam finds himself staring at it. 

“If there are any two people that could go to the Empty and come back,” Sam finally says quietly, “it would be Dean and Cas.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Max comments. “I never met Cas.” 

A wave of aching sympathy suddenly rolls over Sam for Max, along with sharp points of anger on Max’s behalf. Did Dean really sleep with Max the entire time he was planning on using Max to get Cas back? “Max…” Sam says. “You… and Dean. I mean… did you…”

“Don’t even get into it,” Max says. “Alicia already grilled me. I knew exactly what it was. So did Dean. And Dean knew that I knew.”

Alicia sighs, and it startles Sam. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. “But you guys seemed so good for each other,” she says, a hint of regret in her voice.

“That’s just it, ‘licia,” Max says. “ _You_ wanted us to be a thing. Neither of us did.”

“But how could you guys just - ”

“Masters of casual sex,” Max says. “We’re still just friends.” Then he smirks, and Sam’s almost taken aback at just how much like Dean he can be. “We just happened to be banging a lot.”

This conversation is turning down a road that Sam isn’t at all interested in going down, so he tunes it out, focusing instead on Dean. He’s still motionless. He’s still not breathing. Sam doesn’t have to take his pulse again to know that there’s still no heartbeat. 

Sam’s about two seconds away from praying to Chuck despite knowing it would be useless.

It’s right at that moment that Dean’s eyes fly open and there’s a sharp intake of breath followed by rough, dry coughing, and Sam is so startled that he nearly falls off the bed. 

The relief flooding through Sam is so sharp that any anger he had about Dean doing something so completely idiotic gets shoved down deep. Sam knows he’ll find it later, and he’s going to ream Dean for doing this to him, but right now all Sam cares about is the fact that _Dean’s alive_. 

Sam and Max help Dean sit up, and Sam can see Dean throwing cautious looks at Sam all through his coughing fit, which oddly brings another wave of relief. Dean’s aware enough to know that Sam shouldn’t be there. 

“Alicia called him.” Max had apparently noticed where Dean’s eyes were, too. “You were out way longer than you said you would be.” 

Alicia appears with a glass of water, and Dean takes it, swallowing it all down before he says anything. Just as Alicia reaches out for the glass, presumably to go refill it, Dean finally speaks. 

“I found him.”

* * *

Dean doesn’t offer details to anyone. The first thing he does after he says those three words is roll over to reach for his phone, which he instantly powers on. “Dunno where he landed,” he says, seemingly more to himself than anyone else. 

Sam wants to know what happened, but Dean just spends the next forty-five minutes sitting on the edge of the couch in the living room staring at his phone. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean so stiff and strained, but he knows there’s absolutely nothing any of them can do to ease the tension. 

And then that phone finally, blessedly lights up and rings, and Dean’s on his feet and into the next room as he’s picking up. His voice is quiet and Sam can’t pick up a single word. The conversation is short; Dean’s back in the living room in under a minute. 

“He’s in Washington,” Dean says quietly. “Exact place where…” He stops and swallows. “It’s where he died.”

Sam nods and gets to his feet. “Well, let’s go.” 

They’re out the door in just a few minutes, and Max and Alicia walk them to their cars. Something unspoken makes Sam and Alicia stop a few feet away while Max and Dean continue on, but they’re still close enough to hear every word. 

“I better get to meet this dude,” Max says. “And I’m talking, like... soon. Not in a month. Like… this week.” 

The grin that spreads across Dean’s face is one that Sam hasn’t seen in months. “You will.” 

* * *

Sam knows it’s silly since they could pick up Mom’s car later, but they drive separately to North Cove, him trailing behind the Impala. He supposes it’s because he’s not sure he wants to be in the same car as Dean and Cas on the way back home. 

_Home_. They’re going to get Cas, and they’re going to take him home. The excitement is so palpable that Sam can practically see it emanating off the top of the Impala like heat waves as they fly down the highway.

They finally pull in next to that cabin, and that place is still terrible for all the memories it holds, but it’s suddenly the greatest place on Earth when Cas appears on the porch.

Dean doesn’t even cut off the Impala’s engine, and he leaves the door open. Sam gets out of Mom’s car as Dean runs - literally _runs_ \- towards Cas. 

Sam has to blink back tears as Dean pulls Cas towards him. And Dean, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate, and Sam suddenly understands yet another reason why Dean told him about Max; it’s so he could kiss Cas right in front of him without Sam having a heart attack. 

Sam grins as he reaches into the Impala, taking the keys out of the ignition and flipping them into his hand, and then the tears start slipping down.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the quote at the beginning are bastardizations of a quote from part of a prayer:  
>  _"Life is eternal, and love is immortal. Death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight."_  
>  Usually attributed to Rossiter Raymond, but was most likely originally written by William Penn. 
> 
> Wherever it comes from it, I thought it was appropriate is multiple ways. :P


End file.
